Chapter Text
Prologue: Special People
New York, Birch Street, 14 March 2000
“Jessica, get a move on, you slow poke!” A ten-year old kid rushes in her room.
He’s wearing a baseball bat, a sporty outfit and he really looks bratty.
He’s the youngest member of the Jones family.
“Geez, Philipp, don’t be a pain! I just have to grab my jacket and I’m ready!” The thirteen years old teenager replies, gathering all her stuff. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, combs her smooth, long, black hair, and irons out the heavy-metal t-shirt she’s wearing.
“Just hurry the heck up, mom and dad have been waiting for you outside for ages!” Her petulant little brother reminds her.
Among everyone’s agenda, school duties for the kids and professional ones for their parents, the Jones family doesn't have much time to spend together. That’s why everyone treasures these little trips every once in a while. And if the kids must lose a day of school lessons for that, well, it’s not that bad.
“You’re exaggerating. They've only been waiting twenty minutes!” Jessica shrugs, donning her jacket and taking her rucksack. She almost dislocates her shoulder.
“Geez, it’s so damn heavy! Yesterday it wasn’t so damn heavy!” She complains, having serious trouble holding it.
Her little brother notices her inquiring glare.
“You did something!” She accuses him.
“Geez, Jess, what a fuss for a couple of things I added from my rucksack!” Phillip rolls his eyes.
“Couple of things like what? Huge stones?” She retorts.
“You’re such a wuss, aren’t you?” The young brother makes fun of her, opening her rucksack.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll take back my videogame so it will be less heavy. Happy now?” he says nonchalantly, taking the game back.
“Hey! First, nothing changed, dammit! Second, that’s my videogame!” She protests, irritated, grabbing the rucksack again with difficulty, also due to her skinny frame.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll wait for you in the car!” Philipp trots away, giggling.
- What did I do so wrong in my life to have the most pain-in-the-ass brother in the world? - the teenager wonders, upset, glancing at her beloved Greenday poster, before leaving the room and going downstairs, panting.
She would have preferred staying home, maybe listening to her favorite punk-rock songs, laying in her bed.
- This is gonna be such a long day! -.
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London, St. James’s Street, 14 March 2000
About five thousand and six hundred kilometers away and five hours forward, in the silver buildings of Goldsmiths University, Kevin is focusing on his psychopathology book in the library.
There are just a few weeks before the exam and the twenty-three old student wants to excel. He feels he had embarked on the right study path. It’s already the fourth and last year and so far he still has to find a subject that has not hooked him.
Sure, that has been the umpteenth disappointment for his parents, but Kevin has never had an ideal relationship with them, quite the contrary. He barely knows what their faces look like anymore. The Thompsons are well-known scientists and they’ve always considered their unplanned son as a burden and a constant distraction from their oh-so-important research.
That’s why he has been tossed around, first from one nanny to the others; then locked away in a boarding school, except for holidays.Those are the only times when Albert and Louise tried to act like true parents… with very poor results.
Kevin always looked forward to going back to boarding school rather than spending time with them. That’s why he was more than happy when, at the tender age of fifteen years old, his parents kicked him out of that house without any affection and he went to live on his own. Albert and Louise just confined themselves to sending him the money he needed to support himself.
And they kept doing that, even if unwillingly, when Kevin decided to apply to the Psychology University.
Albert and Louise were sure he would follow their footprints, studying Biology or Medicine, but there was no way Kevin would agree. He was well aware that, save for their D.N.A., he had nothing in common with his parents.
Kevin had always been fascinated by the human mind and its huge complexity; that’s why he had no doubt about it when he had to choose in what area he should specialize.
“Here you go, Family-Less!” An irritating voice from behind catches him off guard.
It’s Riley’s voice, the bully who, with his gang, has been pestering Kevin since he set foot in the University. News spread very fast and it took little time for everyone at school to find out about his dysfunctional family situation, jumping to conclusions and portraying him like some kind of antisocial freak. This, along with the nearly perfect grades he was receiving, attracted the wrong kind of attention from other students.
Kevin never cared much about other people. Social interactions were not his strong suit, although he was well versed in every single detail of them from a theoretical point of view. All he wanted was to study in peace and have everyone leave him alone.
Too bad Riley doesn’t care what Kevin wants.
“So, is the Teachers’ pet getting ready to take another 100% at the next exam?” The bully teases him.
“That’s what happens when someone studies, you know? You should open books more often, rather than closing your hands into fists.” Kevin strikes back, with an extremely calm tone.
He never yearns for a fight, even less for violence, maybe also because his skinny disposition doesn’t allow him such things. The bright yellow T-shirt he’s wearing that day probably isn’t helping his cause.
“Don’t act as if you’re better than me!” Riley growls. He’s twice Kevin’s size, but has less than half of his brain.
- But I am better, you stupid monkey!- Kevin muses, bothered, wishing Riley will get sick of pestering him.
It must be his lucky day, because the bully confines himself only to taking his book and throwing it into the paper basket before leaving. At least that’s a place where Kevin can easily pick the book from. During the last four months he had to rebuy that book three times: once Riley threw it beneath a moving truck, another time he threw it in the toilet bowl, and another time he drew very obscene drawings and dirty words on it with a permanent marker. These were the luckier times, when Kevin himself was not the goal of Riley’s vexations.
- One fine day everything will be over. - Kevin cheers up, gathering his book.
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Waterbury, W Main Street, 14 March 2000
Aziraphale has an odd, pleasant feeling when the phone rings, even before lifting the receiver. He already knows who it is; his sixth sense can rarely deceive him. Okay, maybe a couple of times, involving a guillotine and a church ended up in wreckage.
“Hallo?” he answers calmly.
“Angel.”
That voice. It’s been thirty-three years, more or less, since he has heard that voice.
“My dear, it’s been so long!” He lets the deep emotion slip into his voice.
- Maybe Crowley forgave me for telling him that night that he went too fast for me. - he ponders.
“I have to tell you something. I passed by your book shop today but it was closed. Did you take a day off, angel?” Crowley asks him.
He’s talking to him in such a calm and relaxed way that it seems they haven’t heard from each other just since the day before. After all, for millennial and immortal creatures like them, time is relative; but Aziraphale is so accustomed to living among humans that he felt all those thirty-three years, day by day.
“Well, my dear, even for more than a single day. I’m in New York and not for holiday. I must prevent some people from deconsecrating a church,” he explains.
“Always dutiful in your work!” The demon chuckles. “Can’t you just take half day free, hmm? We could meet halfway, just in the time of a snap, hmm?” the redhead suggests.
“Temptation accomplished!” The blond approves. “Where do you want to meet?”
Amsterdam, Vondel Park, 14 March 2000
- This is not a date. This. Is. Not. A. Date. - Aziraphale keeps repeating to himself, trying to calm down, when, a few hours later, he’s walking through the park. It’s beautiful, an explosion of all the colors that the imminent Spring is bringing with it.
Taking a stroll through the statues, the main points of interest, the meadows, the old trees and the large variety of flowers, finally the angel sees Crowley. He’s waiting for him, across a little wooden bridge that leads to a wonderful blue gazebo, floating on the water.
He’s wearing oh-so-tight black pants, a black T-shirt that almost looks transparent with the sunlight and a black jacket, left open, fluttering in the wind just like his long red hair, wild and free.
- He’s beautiful, as always. - Aziraphale keeps his thoughts to himself, while he approaches him.
Crowley impatiently observes that living wonder made of tartan, soft and celestial colors, hair that’s softer than clouds and a smile that’s brighter than the sun, walking towards him.
- My amazing angel. How am I supposed to not to go fast when it’s about you? I’d like to just grab you and kiss you inside this gazebo, until both of us are worn out!- Crowley keeps his thoughts to himself, while he grumbles something to greet him.
“I admit that I got the wrong idea when you mentioned Amsterdam.” Aziraphale says, while they’re walking through the little bridge.
Crowley chuckles. “I bet you would. Although, I didn’t disdain the idea of initiating you to red light districts and coffee shops!” the demon sneers maliciously, before getting to the point. “Angel, do you remember when I convinced you to collaborate with me during our common missions?”
“How could I forget? You went on for ages and at the end you won.” The angel rolls his eyes at the sky.
“That’s right and I hope to win even this time, but at the first try, without taking centuries again!”
Aziraphale shrugs.
“I was thinking… what if we found someone who can take on some of our missions for us?”
“What do you exactly mean?” The blond narrows his eyes.
“I’m talking about special people. People that we could ‘employ’ to help us. You with your angelic duties, me with my diabolical ones,” the redhead explains.
“Do you mean a sort of… super hero?” Aziraphale stares at him, more and more dumbfounded.
“Ngk! More an anti-hero from my side… anyway, yeah, I mean something like that. Think about it… someone who can guarantee safety and protection or make people sin a little, here and there… Just think about how much time we could save. Time to do other things?”
- Together, maybe. - They both think, but they just can’t know.
“And...assuming that we try to do that, how should we proceed?” The angel asks him vaguely, but Crowley can’t wipe the smirk off his face.
“Let’s each find a candidate to give some power to that can make them helpful in our missions. As long as our bosses keep seeing their damn reports filled out, no one will ask questions.”
Crowley anticipates Aziraphale’s doubts. He knows him better than anyone else.
“Okay. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with trying to guarantee a bit more protection and wellness for the human kind, is there?” the angel tries to convince himself.
“And neither is a bit of corruption and turmoil.” Crowley adds.
“Okay, count me in.” the blond stretches his hand and the demon shakes it more than willingly, sealing their deal. “Okay, now we just have to find these special people.”
TBC